I think one of the reasons that this resonates with so many people, is that most folks that hunt or spend significant time in the woods usually experience something they have a hard time wrapping their head around.
When I was a kid, we used to hunt deep in the woods of Georgia. We found the remnants of a small house, miles and miles from the nearest dirt road or deer path. There wasn't much left of it, but it had a stone foundation, and a stone fireplace.
To this day, my brother in law, goes on epic hunting and fishing trips that last days at a time, usually 3-4 days depending on what you see. His Dad had horses and we would head out with 3-4 guys and a pack horse. He had been hunting this area for years, and so had his Dad and Uncles, and they never came across this shack.
We camped there and talk turned to what the hell was up with this little shack. Maybe it was an old hunting shack, maybe and old slave hideout, or civil war hideout, but we ended up calling it the witches shack.
The year we found it we were psyched. It was sturdy enough to stop the wind and had a fireplace. The first night we were woken up just before sunrise by the horses being spooked, and then a ton of noise down the side of the hill the shack stood on. My BIL knew what it was right away and said "it's a pack of wild dogs, and they got something." The sun came up and we saw what was at least 20 dogs tearing apart what we figured was a deer. Turns out they killed another dog.
We packed up and headed out. But the next day when we came back through, there was no sign of it. No bones, no fur, and no blood. We found the spot, and you could tell where it was, but no signs of a kill, about 36 hours later. My BIL figured that with so many dogs in the pack that they dragged most of it away and lapped up most of the blood.
The next year we figured we would set up near the shack. We were getting close late in the afternoon and figured we would scout a little for spots for tree stands and chill out. Maybe a half mile or so away my BIL's Dad stops and says, "Do you smell that?" We all turn up our noses and took a big sniff. It was for sure the smell of bacon cooking. No doubt. We figured someone had found the shack and was cooking. Got to the shack and there was no one there.
The next day was a successful hunt.
I moved away the following year, but went back some years later with my BIL, but we went in on quads. This was in North Georgia, near the Tennessee border.
